Claustrophobia
by FastIce
Summary: Spacosity two shot. Gene Coles was having a perfectly normal, boring day. Until his bosses decided to make him useful.
1. Gene

**So I've been a spacosity fan since I encountered the space core, and I wanted to write them something. But I also had an idea as to where the space core came from, which grew into this. Go for it.  
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That morning, Gene Coles adjusted his tie, like he always did. He combed his hair, like he always did. He drank his coffee – milk, two sugars, the same as always. The marmalade was where it always was, which was in the cupboard under the toaster, which popped out his toast after exactly one minute and twenty seconds, the same way it could be relied upon to do every morning. The toast was eaten quickly while the radio announced the weather – the one thing which might vary about his daily routine. Lastly, he kissed his wife – her name was Alice - goodbye, picked up the case placed under his coat, and walked to the train station.

The station was dull, and grey, and smaller than it should have been. The trains were small, narrow, and smelt of tin, cigarette smoke and the products of heavy nights out. There were never enough seats and Gene, who was claustrophobic, found himself thinking in the same, slightly panicked, way he always did, that he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to breathe the filthy air or to simply allow the crush of the other passengers and their smoke to suffocate him. When, eventually, he arrived at the small building in the side of the small Asian supermarket tucked into a narrow alley, he stood awkwardly in the lift and let it carry him down into his office, far, far underground.

He sat at his desk. Around him, people clattered, drawing conclusions from tests carried out far away from them, separated by miles of winding tunnels and heavy rock. Tables were filled out based on data involving precise measurements, accurate equipment and a good deal of spit and prayers. Gene sighed, the depressing little cubicle separating him from his co-workers seeming to become smaller and smaller, pressing in on him more and more. When Nick, who worked next to him, handed him a large folder full of hastily scribbled notes to decipher, he sighed.

"Nick?" He said, a thoughtful tone in his voice, "Do you ever think there might be more to life than this?" Nick looked at him, puzzled.

"What?" Gene paused before opening his mouth next.

"Well, I joined Aperture, I did it because I wanted to know things. All my life, I've wondered why things worked, why this did that, how that could be made better – questions, all the time. Science is about answers, and I want them. Not sitting with paper all day. Finding stuff out. Being useful." Nick raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. Um… sorry. Can't help. See you." He left, shaking his head in a slightly bemused fashion. Gene sighed again and turned back to his work until he was interrupted again, this time by a presence he didn't recognise, with a crisp, clipped voice.

"Mr. Coles?" If you would follow me, please." A tall man in perhaps his thirties, with dark hair and a darker suit stood behind him, motioning that Gene should follow him. Gene complied, one question on his lips.

"Why?"

"Because you're curious."

"Curious?" The man didn't answer, silently walking on through the blue gloom of the facility. They walked for hours, Gene was sure, well, well beyond city limits, far into the countryside until the rough, dark granite was replaced by smooth, white... metal? He wasn't sure. All the while, neither spoke and Gene felt himself growing more and more apprehensive. Eventually, they came to a large room with a heavily locked door and full of machinery. Gene just had time to notice the large steel plate with the straps before something hit him on the back of the head and the green sparks began to dance on the edges of his vision, before fading his vision out to black and letting him drop to the ground, limp and easy to manipulate.

Gene was awoken by a sharp pain in the back of his neck. Groggily, he opened his eyes to find himself staring at a clean white ceiling, strapped to the slab he had noticed earlier. _'tknowwhereIamwhat'sgoingonhelpme_, he thought, unable to control his quick, heavy breathing, sweating skin and wide eyes. This attracted the attention of the scientists, who immediately crowded round him, blocking the light and causing him to panic more and more until eventually, he passed out again thinking _can'tbreathecan'tbreathecan'…_

This time, when he woke, he couldn't remember who he was. Couldn't remember what he looked like, where he was. Didn't know what was going on. All he had in his head was one thought, and that was: _Space. Give me Space. I need __**Space**__._

**This will have a second chapter at some point, probably next week. Then it's time to fall off the face of the earth again and find something worthwhile to do.**

**Till then – see ya!**

**-S.**


	2. Alice

**And now for the other half – Curiosity!**

Alice reached for another tissue, gulping for breath in between her sobs.

"And that's not even the half of it! I bet you anything – _anything_ – that she's blonde. And thinner than me. And younger. And prettier, with a nicer hairstyle and nicer skin and I bet she's got more money than me too!" Her friend, a neighbour with four children, flour and crushed biscuit clinging to her skirt and not enough time on her hands, lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Come now," said the older woman. "I'm sure it can't be as bad as all that. You don't even know if he's run off with someone."

"Why else would he have been gone all week? Oh my god, what am I going to do? I've not got a chance. She's probably just some skinny slip of a thing and her name is going to be something like Sindy. Or Arabella. Or some other fluffy giggly name. Think Hattie, whatever else could it be?"

"You know how hard Aperture works their employees. My George keeps a sleeping bag in the office these days, he's so overworked."

"But seven days? Without so much as a phone call? What could possibly keep him in the office for a week? Right Hattie, I just have to go over there and find out the truth, I can't think what else to do." Hattie took a moment to study the wreck in front of her. Alice wasn't old, barely thirty four, with a not unattractive face and small frame. However, at that point in time it would be fair to say that she was not at her best; her hair, clinging to her sodden face, had not been washed in several days and the extra grease was beginning to take its toll on her complexion. Her face was raw from scrubbing tears out of puffy eyes and her nails were short and jagged – nail biting had always been the nervous habit she couldn't quite kick.

"Don't you think, perhaps, that you should clear yourself up, first?"

"So you _do_ think he's run away with someone! Even you agree I've no hope!"

"No. But look at yourself. A lady always keeps composure in front of her man, and that's not an easy job when you look the way you do today! Run a bath and find some soap, then you can find out what's happened to him."

And so it came to be that when Alice Coles left the house for what would turn out to be the final time, her hair, although not shiny, was clean and her lipstick was freshly applied.

…

"Mrs. Coles, I'm very sorry but your husband hasn't signed into work all week. We assumed, since he signed out early the last time he was here, that he was ill, at home. With you."

"Are you suggesting that my husband is gone because of me?"

"No! No, I didn't mean that at all. But I did mean that we haven't seen him in quite some time, so we can't help. I'm really sorry."

"Really? There's nothing you can do to help me find my husband? Please, there must be something! Can I at least have a look at his desk? Just to see if there's some clue to where he is?"

"Well… I suppose… there can't be much harm. One moment, I'll send someone to escort you." When the escort finally arrived, a skinny man with unkempt hair and unpolished shoes, he took her to the desk where her husband had worked immediately, never once pausing in his jabbering, never focusing the topic on something relevant to the situation. It was with a dreadful feeling of the air catching in her throat, which seemed to be filling by the minute, that Alice sifted through the week's worth of papers her husband had failed to sort, almost ready to cry when something caught her in the corner of her vision. It was a letter, addressed to one Cave Johnson. Although Alice didn't know the name, it wasn't that one which caught her eye. What interested her was her husband's name, printed on a letter dated the day after he'd last left for work. She pulled the letter from the envelope, first checking that her escort was giving her the same amount of attention he'd given all afternoon.

"I never did like colour on these walls, I mean, it's not too inspiring, is it? Would something a bit brighter be too much to ask? But what can you do? One minute you're just sat there working and then…" Perfect. He wasn't even looking at her, having decided that the offending wall offered a far better view than a miserable woman moving desk objects and piles of paper. Alice took the neatly written letter out of the envelope completely, trying to read as slyly as she could.

_Dear Mr Johnson,_ the letter read.

_I am writing to inform you of the third failed attempt to create the curiosity core you requested for the GLaDOS project. The subject was Gene Coles, Male, aged 37 from our internal affairs department. A photograph is enclosed. Subject was claustrophobic and as a result the core seems to be focused on nothing but finding space – which may be a powerful attribute in these times of fierce competition in the field of space travel technology. It may be possible to turn this mistake to our advantage by adding this core to the GLaDOS structure after completion. _

_Please rest assured that the organic body has been sterilised and removed appropriately by the Incinerator provided by the facility._

_Yours sincerely,_

_David Halkin,_

_Core Coordinator, AI Research and Development_

Alice could feel the colour draining from her face. It was when she sat down on the chair, her legs having turned to jelly, the tears started to retrace their earlier, shallow tracks down her cheeks. There was nothing she could do but sit while her escort desperately tried to find out what was wrong with her.

"If there's, um, anything I can to do to, y'know, help, in any way, at all, then that's fine. You just let me know and I'll, um.."

"Thank you Stephen, I'll take it from here." Said a suited man as he gently helped Alice off the chair to her feet." I'm just going to escort you to a place you can calm down before you leave. Do you understand?" He was leading her away from the desks now, although not, she thought, in the direction she had come from. She nodded, struggling to keep her noise to a minimum. They rounded a corner and walked miles, Alice was sure, all the time trying not to crumple onto the floor, further and further away, until something struck the base of her skull and a dull throb signalled that she was going to become that heap on the carpet whether she liked it or not.

…

White. All around her, white, and the keening of a drill rebounding around the heavy wire filled padding around her ears as what seemed to be restraints crushed her ribs. Muffled voices with hands attached were scanning her new eye movements, adding tabs to her face and neck, just over the windpipe.

"Who are you? Where am I? What's that? What are you _doing_?"

…

Some hours later, a blood soaked David Halkin picked up his pen and began to write.

_Dear Mr Johnson,_

_I am writing to inform you of the first failed attempt to create the spy core you requested for the GLaDOS project. By happy accident, I can also report the success of the previously problematic creation of a curiosity core_…

…

**Guess that was bit more than a week, sorry. Still, finished it now, hurrah! Anyway, how was it? I do worry if I over described, the prose is looking a little purple to me.** **Still, that's the point of writing this, right? To improve, and build on. So do me a favour and give me some advice over here. It's really appreciated. All the best, **

**Sorrel-Anne.**


End file.
